


Golden Birthday

by kunstvogel



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Common Cold, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2019-02-14 14:09:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunstvogel/pseuds/kunstvogel
Summary: It's Lew's birthday, but it seems like no one remembered.





	Golden Birthday

Lewis wakes up with a certainty in his gut that it’s going to be a long day.

His head is pounding and there’s an itch at the back of his throat, a sure sign of impending illness. He listens to the silence of the house for a moment, then crawls out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom, where the mirror is still foggy from Dick’s recent departure. Lew washes up with limbs sore and aching, a tight kink in his neck from sleeping wrong. He’d drank too much the night before: he has a vague recollection of Dick pulling the bottle from his grasp and all but carrying him back to bed.

It occurs to Lew midway through his shower that it’s his birthday. He’s 30 today; his golden year. Immediately after the realization, Lew’s elbow slams into the shower wall as he’s scrubbing at his scalp; he brings half the soap bottles crashing down to the bottom of the plastic tub. One particularly heavy bottle hits his toes with a sense of finality.

Dick is sitting at the table nursing a bowl of instant oatmeal and a glass of milk when Lew comes downstairs, clean and dressed but already unhappy. He raises his eyes to Lew’s face and cocks an eyebrow.

“You alright?”

“Oh, just peachy, thanks.” Lew stares, expecting his friend to acknowledge the date somehow. He doesn’t. Dick holds his gaze for a beat and turns back to eating, having evidently forgotten that it’s Lew’s birthday.

It’s not the first time someone had forgotten it, but it still stings.

Lew scoffs, irritated, and fixes himself his own bowl of oatmeal and a coffee, doctoring it with a quantity of whiskey. He can feel Dick’s eyes on him as he does it, hears the defeated little sigh he breathes out before he gets up and rinses his plate and cup in the sink. Dick leaves without a word, and Lew is left sulking over his breakfast, alone.

His day doesn’t get much better after that.

At work, Lew clocks in and is immediately harassed by one of his father’s lectures. At the end of it all, Stanhope tacks on a gruff “Happy birthday, son,” and a clap on the back.  _ At least someone remembered _ , Lewis thinks bitterly. He’s not so sure he’d wanted his father to be the first one to say it, though.

Once Lew takes a seat at his desk, his nose stuffs up so suddenly that his head spins. Lew makes the mistake of trying to blow it out, and winds up having to stand up and pace, snot dripping down his upper lip, sinuses raw and stinging from the effort he’d wasted on it before. The skin above Lew’s lip quickly becomes raw and irritated from wiping at it with a Kleenex too many times.

Stanhope hassles him periodically, claiming Lew hasn’t gotten a lick of paperwork done since he joined the plant, and Lew is forced to take papers with him during his lunch break to appease him.

For lunch he decides to spring for something new at the café next door, but he’s sorely disappointed, left feeling nauseated enough by the bland, dry food that he takes a swig from his flask right there in the restaurant, spilling a few drops on some important document he couldn’t care less about. He trudges back to his office feeling worse than ever.

Dick drops by his office just after that.

“I’ve got the rest of the day off,” he says. “I’ll see you later, Lew.”

“Bye.” Lew doesn’t look up at Dick. By now he’d forgotten his ire, had forgotten, in fact, that it was his birthday at all. Paperwork and constant pestering from his father, coupled with his gradually worsening cold, had put Lew in a poor state of mind.

The rest of the evening passes at a crawl, and at 5:30 exactly, Lew abandons all pretense of completion and clocks out, hurrying to leave before his father tracks him down again.

Outside, the cold has set in for the season, and Lew finds himself rushing to his car and cranking up the heater, mentally telling himself to bring his winter coat tomorrow. As he’s driving his thoughts turn back to Dick at the kitchen table that morning, Dick forgetting his birthday, Dick’s disappointment with his drinking. Dick had never forgotten his birthday before. Maybe it was childish of Lew to be upset over it, but it’d brought to mind all the times his parents had forgotten it too, or ignored it outright.

He drives home with his heart in his throat and tears threatening. Had he really become so stagnant, so unbearable, that Dick had also forgotten or simply chosen to ignore his one special day? Was he little more than a footnote in Dick’s life, now that their time in the Army had passed and taken with it any chance of accomplishment in Lew’s pathetic life? He supposed he deserved it, the rejection. He should’ve expected it, really.

Upon seeing his and Dick’s cozy brownstone again, Lew has to work very hard not to cry, parking the car and sitting idly as it cools in the pervasive September cold. Once he manages to get a lid on his emotions, Lew wipes away a stray tear and climbs out, making quick work of the front door of the house.

“Hey,” Dick greets him in the parlor, taking his jacket and boots to the closet and nudging him towards the kitchen. “Go get a snack, I ordered carry-out. Should be here soon.” Lew obliges, plucking an apple from the bowl in the kitchen and wandering into the dining room.

“Happy birthday, Nix!” Ron, Carwood, and Harry are all lounging at the table, a big blue cake with a gold 3-0 at the center. Dick sidles up beside Lew, who turns to stare at his friend, slack-jawed.

“I thought you’d all forgotten,” Lew breathes, sniffling. Dick looks affronted.

“I’d  _ never _ forget your birthday, Lew. You’re my best friend.”

Harry stands up then, grinning toothily. “Dick baked the cake. He bitched about it to me over the phone all week. He was so worried about getting everything just right.”

Lew inspects the cake, notices now that it’s a little thin and the frosting is rough, more from inexperience than haste. He can’t imagine how much time Dick must’ve dedicated towards it - he knows better than anyone that Dick is an awful cook.

“I..I don’t know what to say,” Lew chokes out, a smile breaking out across his face.

“Thank you,” Lip suggests, smirking.

“Yeah. Thanks, guys,” Lew laughs. “It means a lot.”

*

The night passes without a hitch. Lew takes some cold medicine before they all eat dinner, which turns out to be fried chicken with sides of mashed potatoes, corn, and coleslaw. Dick laughs, admits he’d had no idea what anyone liked and just picked comfort food, and of course Lew and Harry rib him for being a farm-boy, but he takes it in good spirits.

Once they’ve all eaten, Harry decides to sing happy birthday to Lew before they cut up the cake, and he can’t help but flush with embarrassment as even Dick sings to him, urging him afterwards to make a wish and blow out the candles like a little kid.

The cake turns out to be wonderful, if a bit dense. Dick had layered marbled white and chocolate cake with frosting between, and regales them all with the horrific tales of his previous attempts.

“When did you have time to do all of this, Dick?” Lew asks.

Dick flushes, inexplicably embarrassed. “While you were asleep. I- ah, I haven’t been sleeping very well. I thought to make use of the extra time I was awake.”

“Oh,” Lew says dumbly, not sure what else to say.

“Anyway,” Dick changes the subject quickly, “you’ve got presents, too.” He gets to his feet, disappearing into his bedroom, and comes back out with a shipping box. From it he pulls several wrapped gifts and a stack of cards.

“You  _ were  _ going through the mail,” Lew accuses. “Tsk, tsk.”

“Guilty as charged,” Dick shrugs. “I wanted to make today special.”

Dick settles down with the others as Lew opens his presents; two bottles of wine from Harry, a French cookbook from Speirs, a travel kit and an atlas from Lipton, and all the cards from the friends who couldn’t make it to Jersey.

Dick produces his gift last, after the sun has gone down and the others have said their goodbyes, each with a box of leftover cake to bring home with them. Dick sinks into the couch beside him, his hip warm. Lew throws back a shot and coughs, his cold catching up now that the excitement has passed.

“I thought you’d forgotten,” Lew admits, laughing bitterly. “Dick, I thought you didn’t care. Isn’t that just ridiculous?”

“I’m sorry, Lew. I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well you certainly accomplished that,” Lew concedes. Dick looks at him, thoughtful, and starts to lean in closer to Lew, a hand skirting to his thigh.

“Dick,” Lew gasps, and he closes in.

It’s everything Lew would’ve expected from him, firm but shy, curious almost, an experiment for more. Dick pulls away, his gaze intense.

“Thanks for the cake,” Lew teases, and presses in for another kiss, reveling in the feeling of Dick’s smile against his lips.

“Happy birthday, Lew,” Dick murmurs.


End file.
